


The art of being 'good'

by Naelyn



Series: Notes of a Laughing Knight [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Character Study, Episode: s05e02 Arthur's Bane, Fear, Friendship, Insecure Merlin (Merlin), Merlin Needs a Hug (Merlin), Observant Gwaine, POV Gwaine (Merlin), gwaine finds out about merlin's magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:46:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25558318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naelyn/pseuds/Naelyn
Summary: “Am I – am I a bad person? Am I evil?”Gwaine’s heart almost skipped a beat at those words as his mind tried to reconcile them with the person who had uttered them.Merlin. Evil.Evil, Merlin.Merlin, evil?!orGwaine, worried about Merlin's well-being, goes back to the cave as Merlin's conversation with the Diamair unrolls a bit differently. Listening in what Merlin thinks to be a private conversation, he learns many things concerning his friend, and discovers one of Merlin's most deeply buried fears: to become evil - or, worse: to already be it. But does it truly work that way?
Relationships: Gwaine & Merlin (Merlin)
Series: Notes of a Laughing Knight [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1852114
Comments: 16
Kudos: 252





	The art of being 'good'

_Good_ was not something that Gwaine aspired to be.

When one thought about it, the term itself was quite derisive, was it not? Prey to numerous interpretations, each varying depending on whom was uttering them… _Good, good…_ What was that even supposed to _mean_? As Gwaine had found out on his first years as a knight of Camelot, men liked to talk about _good_ deeds, alluding to the saving of a damsel or the slaying of some evil beast – or, if they were lucky, both things at once. Ah, yes. That popular myth that said that if the knight slew the monster, then the pretty maiden would reward him with a kiss on the cheek. Well, Gwaine had a few objections to that. Firstly, they rarely ever saved maidens; most monsters had it after Arthur, and even though Gwaine quite liked to call him _princess_ , the king was not in the habit of rewarding his knights with a peck on the cheek. So, there was that. Also, Gwaine’s experience with maidens had shown him the following: not all of them were damsels in distress, and many would rather be given a sword than a troop of knights to guard their backs. Which was something that Gwaine could perfectly fathom and relate with, he who had had a hard time getting used to having other people guard his own back. _You’re never better served than by yourself_ , he used to say. But his experience as a knight had taught him better, or so he liked to think. To go back to the tale of the maiden and the knight, Gwaine didn’t mean to discredit his companions. _Good deed_ was a widespread word in the knights’ mouths, and he knew that Arthur’s closest knights had every faith in the word. However, he felt entitled to add this: good deeds there might be, but if the said knight was expecting to be rewarded with the lady’s affection, then he was sorely mistaken.

But as a knight, he had learnt to let them speak of good deeds and try not to break their shiny ideals.

However, as he had found out during his time in taverns, those said deeds were hardly ever accurate, and if there was one thing that knights were good at, it was boasting. There was a time when he used to think that all knights were the same, twisted and corrupted and boastful… but then he’d met Sirs Leon, Lancelot, Percival and Elyan… and he had been forced to revisit this point of view. He’d thought himself lucid, when in fact all he had been was blind and stubborn.

Nevertheless, Gwaine did not like the word _good_ , probably because some part of him, hardened by his past, could not help remembering all those golden stories about what a knight ought and ought not to be, each tinged with that ideal of nobleness and honour, and putting them to comparison with the grey, ugly truth, a truth where knights drew their blades on peasants and kings viewed the battlefield as nothing but a chest board, sending their soldiers by the numbers and then frowning when they fell, thinking, _well, that’s unfortunate_ and promising themselves to do better on the next game. _Good_ reminded Gwaine of the stories, and Gwaine had never liked those stories. He was a cynical man, and had seen too much of life to believe in the stories. In the stories, the men were always better than in real life. Truer to their word, more faithful to their wife, closer to their heart… Men in the stories had nothing to do with men in real life; all they shared was the title. Gwaine had learnt not to trust the word _good_ a long time ago.

Besides, _good_ was a word that belonged to the hypocrites. While the drunkard knight would tell you that good was the feeling of hot flesh against yours, the knight clad in armour would count you a different speech, telling you of virtuous demeanour and honourable quests. _Good_ changed whenever it suited the man, and reality showed as much.

And to finish with, well… it had to be awfully tiring to try to be good. One only had to take a look at Lancelot: the man had basically given up on the love of his life to give her a chance at what he thought to be a better future! And he had suffered for it, greatly, too, if the many looks he had cast Gwen’s way were anything to go by. Gwaine could not picture himself making such a great sacrifice, and he did not want people to start expecting that from him. As clear as Lancelot’s conscience must have been, his heart had been shattered, and Gwaine could only imagine the sufferings he had inflicted himself in favour of what was right… therefore, he himself preferred being _well_ and a little sinful, than trying to be good and shivering each time he danced too close to sin. Besides, it was easier to announce yourself as the wicked one, and allow your heart to be filled with a bit of goodness, than to do the opposite, lest people start carrying these high expectations in their hearts, and Gwaine start disappointing them all. Being entirely good, and finding oneself melting into guilt when committing the slightest sin, was not something that Gwaine aspired to achieve. He would rather have people believe that he was a bad man, bathing in depravity and mischief, than have them put their trust in him… and yet, cheerful, soft Merlin had seemed to see goodness in Gwaine before he’d even become a knight and begun to display some of his knightly qualities.

Even without the knight’s armour and title, Gwaine had been deemed enough by Merlin, who had seen in him more than just a drunkard, and, foolish as it might seem, he had made him want to be _better_.

This seemed to be one of Merlin’s many powers, along with befriending strange, translucent creatures in dim, spooky caves. And Gwaine, being the sinner that he was, was listening to the conversation, hidden behind a rock.

To go back to Gwaine’s initial thoughts, no, _good_ was not something he aspired to be. He hardly knew how to be it in the first place. But he liked to think that he had the _ability_ to see goodness in others, and he saw much of it in Merlin. More than in any other man, truth be told, even though Arthur and his fellow knights were close in line. But Merlin – the goodness in Merlin was different from theirs. It was not the goodness of the warrior who protects what he holds dear, nor the goodness of the mother who keeps her pups safe. It was pure, and yet scarred by something Gwaine could not yet conceive. He could see that there was more to it than mere superficial kindness, kindness permitted only by childish innocence and likely to shatter as soon as the surface would be scraped. Kindness that drove a boy to pick flowers for those he loved and smile cheerfully at those who surrounded him, but that would just as easily vanish as soon as it would collide with the harsh reality of things. Merlin’s kindness, however, ran deeper than that one. Pure, still, but not unaware of the cruelty of life. And Gwaine – Gwaine could tell, undoubtedly tell, that Merlin was not only gentle-hearted; his heart was also _just_ , and in it burned a fierceness that showed conviction in his beliefs. Merlin was fiercely loyal; more loyal than any man Gwaine knew, when he thought about it. And although the appearances may suggest that he was happy with picking up flowers and bringing smiles to people’s lips – which already meant a _lot_ –, reality had showed, time and again, that the boyish, cheerful façade he was displaying was hiding something else, something much stronger, something that urged him to jump into the heart of battle and lay down his life for that of his loved ones. He played a fool, but once out on the field, acted like a warrior. He played the disobedient manservant, but in their hour of need, he bent down his head for Arthur and swore him his allegiance. He played the kind boy, when, in fact, he was good, and brave; braver than words could ever describe. And his performance, as well-kept as it might be, wavered each time Arthur’s life was on the line. In such times, Gwaine could see glimpses of the person he was hiding from them, and he found himself yearning to meet that person and get to know them.

Yes, Merlin had always been _more_ than what he let on, that much Gwaine had always known, and so it hardly came as a surprise when he heard him speak of the weight of his destiny crushing him at times. When the Diamair called him wise, Gwaine didn’t react either. Even Arthur spoke of Merlin’s wisdom at times, and that told a lot. What did intrigue him, though, was what the Diamair called him.

_Emrys_ , they’d said.

The name sounded oddly familiar to Gwaine’s ears, and yet he could not place it.

But he did not have time to think upon it, because when Merlin next spoke, his tone was filled with an unsettling amount of distress.

“Wait! Please, wait. I do have one question. One that I daren’t ask anyone else. One that’s been haunting me for longer than I can say. You may deem me unwise for asking it, but… but I can ponder on it no longer.”

The Diamair nodded solemnly, their eye unsurprised. “Even the wise remain men. I am listening, Emrys.”

As Merlin swallowed, visibly thinking of how to phrase his question, Gwaine took the time to look at him more closely. After all, making sure Merlin was alright _had_ been the point of Gwaine going back on his steps and searching for him. He had been worried to hell when he had seen Mordred come back with Arthur barely conscious, Merlin’s name on his lips, but no Merlin with him, after the idiot had gone running after a _dragon_ , of all things. Merlin was _never_ far from Arthur, and so, when he had seen Arthur without his manservant, Gwaine had instantly known that there was something utterly wrong with the situation. Finally, he had found Merlin slumped on the ground, speaking to the creature who had saved Gwaine’s life earlier in the day and was now probably doing the same with Merlin. The latter, _thank God_ , appeared relatively unscathed, even though it wouldn’t take a genius to know that he had been the prey to one of Morgana’s enchantments. The woman did seem keen on throwing people against rocks – and, quite frankly, he could understand the appeal. There were quite a lot of people Gwaine wouldn’t mind throwing against rocks, so as to literally _knock the sense_ into them.

But at this instant, the knight was mad rather than envious, because she had _dared_ to try to hurt _Merlin_. Merlin, of all people! He seemed well enough, but there was no mistaking the exhaustion in his eyes, and Gwaine could tell his head must have hit the wall rather violently. And, most of all, there was a shadow to his face. Gwaine was familiar enough with that shadow, even though he never knew where it came from. It would reach Merlin’s eyes only when he thought that Arthur couldn’t see him, and Gwaine guessed that this was yet another situation when Merlin was allowing himself to break once the action had passed, thinking that he was alone.

Gwaine had never liked the look of that shadow, because each time it came, it served to remind him of how much Merlin kept from them all – of how much Merlin kept from _him_.

Because while there were times when Merlin acted a fool and displayed a wide, cheerful grin for the whole world to see, other times, Merlin’s eyes would grow heavy, weighed by a burden that none could really distinguish. And each time that happened, Gwaine wanted to yell: _show me your burden! Give it to me! Let me see it as you feel it!_ Merlin had helped him in so many ways, but Gwaine found himself unable to save him in return. What kind of friend did that make him, eh? He could _see_ that Merlin wasn’t doing well, could see in his eyes that something in him had _broken_.

Each time that Gwaine tried to brush the subject, however, Merlin either smiled a sad smile that said, _this is my burden to bear and mine only_ , or he shook his head and forced a laugh, changing the subject… and, quite frankly, Gwaine did not know which option was worst. Both served to remind him of how damn unreachable Merlin was, and it infuriated him… because, as heavy as Merlin secrets might be, Merlin himself was _good_ , Gwaine knew as much. He was good, genuinely good, but not in a conventional way; he was good in a way no man could ever aspire to be. And so Gwaine couldn’t find it in himself to be mad at him, because he knew that, deep down, Merlin was doing what he thought was best. And if that meant keeping his friends in the dark… well, the best thing he could do then was show Merlin that he could trust him, and hope that one day, he would willingly turn to him and let him share his pain.

To see that Merlin would rather open his heart to this creature he barely knew than accept the support Gwaine was offering him hurt, there was no denying it, but Gwaine was so struck by the broken hint held in Merlin’s tone that he chose to ignore his own hurt feelings.

“They – they call you the Key to all knowledge, isn’t that right? Claim you have all answers, that you detain all truths, pleasant and unpleasant… That you – that you _know_ things. And I, I – you see, I need to know.” Merlin gave a soft chuckle, his piercing, blue eyes filled with sudden melancholy. “Fear not. I am not after the secret of immortality or anything of that kind. My request is a much more realistic one, one I fear only you have the answer to. And I have to try, you see? I have to, lest this moment will haunt me forever as I will remember that I was too much of a coward to ask. I’ve been wondering for far too long now, without daring to say it aloud.”

“I can see the truth of your dilemma in your eyes, Emrys,” the Diamair replied, not unkindly. “Voice your question, and we shall see if I may answer it.”

Merlin nodded, glancing down at the rock as his feet, and when he looked up again, Gwaine was startled to see tears in his eyes. He could see his friend breaking under his very eyes, and there was not a thing he could do… because should he reveal himself, Merlin would instantly shut himself, and his sorrows would go back to being silent. Gwaine could not risk such a thing happening.

“Magic does not corrupt,” Merlin began, and the knight quirked a surprised eyebrow, wondering what had brought this on. “I know as much; I’ve _seen_ as much. And yet, there are times when I – times when I feel this power _crushing_ me, and when I find myself realising how terribly _easy_ it would be – how easy it _is_ to do evil. And that’s specifically what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid… of turning evil. And proving Arthur and all the rest of the world right about magic. What if I’ve already started turning evil? No one would have a way of knowing, since they all ignore the things I do. Maybe I’m evil, and nobody knows, and I – I’m too blind to notice and too much of a coward to even acknowledge it. I’ve done _evil_ , I know I have.”

The distress held in Merlin’s tone reminded Gwaine of all the things Leon had told him about the lady Morgana, before she’d gone crazy as a nut. ‘She would run into the corridors, screaming things, nonsensical things,’ he could remember Leon telling him, a hint of sadness in his own tone. ‘Her eyes were red from crying, and her voice broke. There were times when – times when she would look in a mirror, and suddenly start, as though frightened by her own reflection. As though she could barely – barely recognise herself. Often, it seemed as though she were fighting against herself – fighting against the very magic that she held, I guess. Fighting not to be corrupted. But eventually, the corrupted part grew – that’s what they say, anyway. That the magic won. I paid great attention to her eyes – full of compassion, they were, and I have to admit that they gave me faith on the most terrible days of Uther’s rule. Oh, yes, full of compassion and love they were. Used to be, at least. Every once in a while, I’d see something else flash in there – anger, and then fear. Fear of that anger, perhaps. Fear of what she was capable of. Each day, it grew, and soon I found myself afraid to look into her eyes again.’ Then, in a huskier tone, he had added: ‘Guinevere once told Elyan about the things she would say in her sleep. Apparently, she would repeat, _I don’t want to, please, no, this is not me_ … It broke poor Guinevere to hear it every time.’

When he looked back at Merlin with those words in his head, it was clear in Gwaine’s mind that his friend, his hurting friend who was shivering and had tears in his eyes, was a sorcerer.

He was a sorcerer, and, according to his words, a powerful one.

The Diamair spoke again. “What is it you call evil, Emrys?”

Had Gwaine been in Merlin’s shoes at that instant, he reflected that he would not have liked being called _Emrys_. He did not know what the name meant, but it sounded awfully unpersonal, and for such personals matters, he would rather have been called by his birth name.

The boy had tears in his eyes, for Heaven’s sake!

Now, Gwaine quite liked the Diamair, but he did not get how they managed to remain so damn _indifferent_ to Merlin’s obvious struggle. Gwaine wanted only one thing: to rush to his friend’s side and pull him into his arms, sorcerer or not.

The sad laugh that Merlin released only served to make Gwaine’s heart clench tighter. “Oh, many things.” He had the weary tone of he who’d seen too much, and was yet trying to remain distant, acting as though it had happened a long time ago and therefore was ancient history. Gwaine knew better than to trust that tone, though. He had heard too many fighters use it as well. “Forcing the air out from a man’s lungs with just a clench of my fist… Sending a group of man flying to a pit with the back of my hand, as though they were mere pieces of dust to be swept from the ground… Killing a man with bare hands, without even speaking a word.”

Merlin’s tone was oddly clipped, as if he were trying to keep it all _inside_. At this instant, he was quite an awful liar.

“Is taking possession of a castle part of the list?” the Diamair wisely responded. “Plotting in the dark to overthrow a ruler? Forcing a beast in a man’s neck to bend him to one’s will?”

Merlin’s eyes widened, and so did Gwaine’s. Who had exactly been the man whose neck had been invaded by some furious beast? Not himself, he hoped. Merlin’s tone was stunned, but visibly not for the same reasons as Gwaine. “How did you–“

“I’ve told you, Emrys. I know things.” So apparently, this Diamair knew everything about everyone. _Great_. “Well, then. Are all these actions the same according to you?”

“That is not for me to say,” Merlin said, and Gwaine recognised that stubborn glint dancing in his eyes.

If the Diamair thought they could manage to get Merlin to answer their questions so easily, they were deeply mistaken. _That’s my Merlin_ , Gwaine thought with a hint of pride.

Then he laid eyes on his friend’s face – full of sadness and guilt it was –, and was once more overcome by an urge to go hug his friend.

“Oh, I think that is exactly for you to say. After all, who better placed than Emrys the mighty to estimate the moral value of a magic act? So, tell me, Emrys. Are yours and Morgana’s actions to be placed on the same level?”

“I – I don’t know! We’ve both killed people, have we not? And killing _is_ evil.”

Gwaine shook his head, burying his face in one hand. That was awfully dense coming from Merlin. ‘Killing is evil.’ Seriously? Even a ten-year-old could come up with something better than that.

“Was it easy?” the Diamair suddenly asked.

The dark-haired boy glanced up, seemingly perplexed.

“Easy?”

“To kill them. Was that easy for you?”

“My magic–“

There was no doubt left about Merlin’s identity as a sorcerer now… but at this instant, Gwaine couldn’t find it in himself to care. His _friend_ was _hurting_ , and that mattered infinitely more than any amount of magic he could detain. It at least explained why he had always been so secretive, and a selfish part of Gwaine was sort of relieved that the secret was such a heavy one. Now he understood.

“I’m not talking about your magic,” the Diamair strictly cut him. “I’m talking about you. Was it easy?”

Gwaine wanted to shake that Diamair.

Shake them really hard.

From the look on Merlin’s face, did it _look_ like it had been easy?

Seriously! It took no genius to figure that Merlin was ravaged with guilt, and perfectly sane except for a few fractures to the heart. Had the boy _not_ been sane, he would not be showering the Diamair with questions that had obviously been troubling him for a very long time. Instead, he would be consuming his powers as Morgana did, with no care for the consequences.

Even though Gwaine had no idea of the extent of those said powers, in his heart, he had no doubt that there was no man better placed than Merlin to detain them. His present behaviour showed as much, did it not?

His friend closed his eyes, briefly, as though remembering the events he had been enumerating, and the pain that the memories seemed to bring him forced Gwaine to shut his own eyes, finding the sight of Merlin’s grief unbearable. But he was quick to reopen them. Gwaine was not one to cower from the truth, especially when the truth was his friend finally revealing himself.

Merlin, however, kept his eyes closed as he shook his head slowly. He looked like a child afraid of the dark.

“See?” the Diamair said, laying a soft eye on Merlin. “Your conscience did not approve, or else you would not be asking yourself all these questions… and that’s what makes the whole difference. As easy as it might be for your magic, your mind suffered from the actions. That’s what makes you different from Morgana.”

_Alright_. Gwaine admitted that _perhaps_ the Diamair was not as bad at human contact as he had originally assumed. Their words at least seemed to have eased _some_ of Merlin’s aches, and for that, Gwaine felt grateful.

“It felt… unnatural.” Merlin paused. “But necessary. It made me feel _sick_.” Softly, Merlin added: “But not as sick as I would’ve been if they had got to Arthur.” He took a deep breath. “Which is specifically what worries me. What right do I have to toy with people’s lives only to serve my own purposes? What right do I have to consider _this_ more important than _that_ using the excuse that I have great powers? Powers shouldn’t determine a person’s right to act, lest the powerful would start preying on the powerless.”

“They already do,” the Diamair replied, echoing Gwaine’s present thoughts. “I can see in your eyes that you have more to say, that there is more to it than simply that. You must speak plainly, Emrys.”

And Merlin – Merlin _broke_ under Gwaine’s very eyes.

His eyes filled with tears, his lower lip began trembling, and he gesticulated furiously as he spoke, tugging at his hair at the same time.

“Is there… some sort of _scale_ to evilness?” Gwaine could tell by the sound of his voice that Merlin was swaying dangerously close to the edge. His tone was full of despair. “Some way to check whether you’re evil or good?” He looked at a distant point on the other side of the cave as he took a deep breath before continuing in a falsely calm tone. “Does he who removes a life reach the top of that scale? Or do his intentions counter his actions? Can a man who, say, killed a dozen guilty men and saved an honourable one, be considered genuinely good? Or was he lost the instant he chose to take a life? I wonder if – if good deeds are sufficient to compensate the bad ones. If there is some sort of balance to be found. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Do carry on, Emrys.”

“Right. He who – he who takes a life but wears no knight’s armour, is he dishonourable? Is he sinful? Fit for hell? And he who wears the tunic of a servant, but allows himself to play with the future of a whole nation, is he a traitor? Tell me… What is the punishment, in the afterlife, for betraying a friend? Misjudging a stranger? Lurking in the darkness? Don’t all religions say that one ought to love their neighbour, and bear them no ill will? And to remain true in all things, because a lie is a sin? And – and that betrayal is for the wicked, for the weak of mind? What happens to those who do all of these things at once, and even more? Are their souls to be tainted forever, with no chance of redemption? Redemption is a common word in religions, though. Regret, and guilt, and pardon… but what if, in spite of your guilt, you keep repeating the same mistakes over and over again? What if the evil _is_ necessary, because if you won’t commit it, then no one else will, and yet _somebody_ needs to do it… Better you than them, right? But then, you become sinful, do you not? While at the same time, you’ve done good, plenty good… _Where do we trace the limit of what is right and what isn’t?_ And how many times have I found myself crossing that very line? Can you tell me that?”

Gwaine almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. For a second, it almost seemed as though Merlin were asking if he were evil. _He_ , who had shown Gwaine nothing but kindness and empathy, his eyes devoid of any judgment, looking at the contents of the knight’s heart rather than that of his title!

Merlin whispered: “I almost condemned a boy to death years ago. And today, he’s succeeded in doing what I could not. Protect Arthur. All those years ago, I almost _killed_ that boy, because a _prophecy_ had destined him to kill the man I was sworn to protect. And he wasn’t the only one I wronged in such a way. All these years, I feared and betrayed those that the prophecies had warned me about. I thought them evil and treated them as such before they had even proved to be so. I thought them the demon, and demons never redeem. But what if the demon, all along, had been _me_? What if I have become so wary and obsessed in fighting Arthur’s enemies that I’ve become even more dangerous than them, in the end?”

Was that Merlin’s idea of a sick joke? If so, Gwaine had to say that Merlin’s acting was flawless! Never in the past had he seen his friend’s face filled with such dismay, as though everything he had ever believed in was now lost to him. Merlin was distraught, and his eyes showed as much. He vaguely reminded Gwaine of men he had seen, dancing too close to the edge of sanity. Men who had lost so much, and been so lonely, that they could no longer tell what was true from what was imagined, and found that there was nothing left for them to hang on to. The only remaining option, then, was clinging to an illusion, and believing in it with all their heart.

Merlin was getting a glimpse of the illusion; it was there, at hand’s grasp, and all he had to do now was take it. The illusion said, _you’re mad, you’re evil_. And this – this was Merlin attempting to tell whether the illusion was real.

Or Merlin being suspiciously good at acting, and feigning all this for some obscure reasons. And so they would all have one good laugh about it, and then forget this strange incident had ever happened.

When Merlin spoke again, though, all trace of genuine laughter vanished from Gwaine’s heart.

“Am I – am I a bad person? Am I _evil_?”

Gwaine’s heart almost skipped a beat at those words as his mind tried to reconcile them with the person who had uttered them.

_Merlin. Evil._

_Evil, Merlin._

_Merlin, evil?!_

He let out a burst of disbelieving laughter.

It was either that, or cry, and Gwaine had always favoured laughter to tears. It tended to stir less questions in people, and while Gwaine was great at small talk, he happened to be quite terrible at answers.

Knowing that he had just revealed his presence, he stepped out of the shadows, his lips still quirked in an odd sort of smile.

“Gwaine?” Merlin whispered, blinking as though struggling to come to terms with the fact that Gwaine had been there, listening to his conversation with the Diamair.

Then his eyes widened in fear – fear at the sight of _Gwaine_!

And the sight of such an emotion offended Gwaine so much that the laughter disappeared as soon as it had come, and he took another few steps forward, anger replacing the initial perplexity.

Gods, Gwaine was _enraged_. How dared Merlin turn those eyes, similar to that of a startled deer, on him – _him_?! When had Gwaine become a predator to his friend’s eyes? How _dared_ he?

“Christ–“

Gwaine shook his head, agitated, running a nervous hand through his strands of hair. He was angry at so much right now, at so _bloody_ much, and he had a hard time putting it all into place. Merlin thought himself evil – Merlin was afraid of Gwaine – evil, afraid, evil, afraid…

And in the end, all that Gwaine said was: “Seriously, mate?”

Merlin was still immobile, his eyes following each of Gwaine’s movements, while the Diamair remained perfectly still, curiously watching as the events unfolded one after the other. And as their eyes calmly met Gwaine’s, he automatically knew what the priority here was.

Gwaine had all his life to convince Merlin that he could trust his friends. And since his friend had probably been keeping his magic a secret for longer than he could remember, getting him to trust people was likely to take time. It could be done – but not right now. Gwaine was too angry right now, and anger made his words blunt and sharp. Bluntness and sharpness was not what Merlin would need to place his trust back in people – he would need patience, and a listening ear, and lots of other things that Gwaine was not able to provide at this instant. Besides, as he had already pointed out, they had all the time in the world for that.

Merlin thinking himself evil, however – that was a matter that demanded urgency. Because his words had been nonsensical, just as Morgana’s. His eyes were red, and his voice had broken more than once. Merlin seemed frightened of Gwaine, of course, but the knight couldn’t help but dread the idea of him being frightened of his own reflection in his friend’s eyes, and that thought – that sole thought was unbearable. And Merlin was fighting – fighting against the belief that he was evil, but how long before he broke? Merlin’s eyes, once full of compassion and love, had, for the last few years, been veiled with a shadow that grew each day… and now that they were alone, the shadow had vanished, revealing fear, and dismay, and wariness that should never have been present there in the first place.

What Merlin needed right now, were words that would shake him. Words he would remember during the days that would follow, and that would forbid him from ever harbouring such absurd thoughts again. He didn’t need gentle; he needed brutality. And while Gwaine was terrible at kindness, blunt honesty he could provide. Truth be told, it was something Gwaine was _great_ at. For once in his life, he was _needed_ ; he was _exactly_ what was needed… and the gods be damned if anyone was going to take that away from him! In the past, Gwaine had rarely ever been needed; desired, yes. But he had always been awfully replaceable, and it had never really bothered him. There was something terrifying in the thought of being the only one able to soothe somebody else’s pains, something terrifying in the thought of being _unique_ and, therefore, indispensable… because, when one was needed for something greater than themselves, then how could they ever truly be free? Not to mention the risk of disappointing the people around him by simply not being _enough_.

But it was also a grand feeling, a feeling of finally _belonging_ , and, just for once, Gwaine thought he understood at least part of all of Merlin’s prattles about destiny and protecting his king. Gwaine was needed, he knew it now; needed by not only his friend, but also a man good in his own way and about to be overwhelmed by the power and responsibilities that were unjustly his. For the first time in his life, Gwaine knew, if not where, by whose side he belonged at this very instant: Merlin’s. The prey-and-predator boy crying next to him, so terribly lonely that he had had to ask a foreign creature to tell him of his heart’s contents instead of simply asking a _friend_. Merlin, tears in his eyes, needed the laughing knight. And if Gwaine had to make him cry some more to knock some sense into him and made sure a genuine smile finally broke its way onto his lips, then he would. A thousand times over, he would, because Merlin was _worth_ it.

For Merlin, Gwaine would be indispensable. Alright. He would agree to render himself indispensable, and thereby give up the thing he had most cherished from the day he’d been born, and never given up on for anyone before: his freedom. The sole thought terrified him, but he would do it, because Merlin made him want to become a better friend. A better knight. A better _man_.

Now was his turn to do his part.

“ _You_ ’re wondering whether _you_ ’re evil?” Gwaine exclaimed, allowing the anger stirred by Merlin’s absurd question a way back into his heart. “I don’t know if that’s hilarious, or simply sad.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. He had visibly not been expecting Gwaine to say that.

“Err–“

“Nah, I mean it. You could ask that tiny creature over there _any_ question you’d like, and you choose to ask whether they think you’re evil or not? You could have asked _anyone_ that; could have asked _me_ that, for Heaven’s sake! Frankly, mate, there are times when I feel I hardly know you at all.”

“Which is exactly my point!”

_Shit,_ Gwaine thought. _Wrong thing to say._

Merlin was triumphant now, clearly thinking he had won this debate. “You _don’t_ know me.”

But Gwaine was quick to bounce back. “And so you choose to go and interrogate a complete stranger on the goodness of your heart. Genius, mate.” He sarcastically clapped. “You know, I used to defend you whenever Arthur called you an idiot, but I’m beginning to think that he’s been right all along.”

“You don’t get it,” Merlin ardently defended himself, his brows now frowning in barely contained annoyance. _Good_. “Look, Gwaine. They know _everything_ –“

“Yeah, I got that part,” Gwaine sharply retorted. “But do they _feel_? Eh? Did they get that feeling, after having been considered dishonourable by all, of being all of a sudden deemed worthy by a servant whose smile would make even the fiercest of warriors melt? That feeling of finally _belonging_ somewhere, regardless of one’s ranks or history. That feeling of being told, _you livened the place up_ – not _you made a mess of things_ , or, or, _you created trouble_ , no, _livened the place up_ –, and then, _you could be a knight_ … and usually, people grow tired of me, because nobody likes messy people standing too close to them, but you didn’t – you _didn’t_. Do they know the feeling? Tell me, do they? And don’t give me that look, Merlin, because I don’t _care_ that they know – I don’t care that they know on which day you killed that man and what colour your bloody socks were that day, because they’ll never know, never feel, what _I_ felt the day you told me you wanted me to stay. Could never even begin to _conceive_ that idea, y’know? Because unless they’ve been there, faced with that boy with that funny smile and cheerful words, then they have no way of knowing, and I feel sorry for them.

Gwaine paused to take a deep gulp of air, before continuing.

“Damnit, Merlin, mate, I thought you were _clever_! You’ve always been sharper than the rest of them, always more lucid – and now you go and do _this_? You, of all people? You, who insist on telling us that there is some good to be found in everything and everyone, and that one bad action doesn’t make us evil? You, who are always the first to reassure each of us in our moments of doubt? Did you ever truly believe in those lessons you gave us? Or did you just somehow assume that they did not apply to you? You know what? Damn you, Merlin! You spend your days fighting against the sole notion of _evil_ , always insisting that things are infinitely more complex than their appear to be, and then you go and ask if _you_ ’re evil, as though a _yes_ or a _no_ would resolve this? You – you utter, gigantic _moron_! This is _not_ a yes-or-no question, don’t you get it? You are not either good or bad!”

Somewhere along his tirade, he had come to grasp Merlin’s shoulders and shake them, but it didn’t seem to bother his friend. Gwaine then placed a hand under Merlin’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze, and thought, _listen to me_.

And he passionately continued:

“Merlin. Look at me, Merlin. _Look at me._ You are not either good or evil. There is no _good_ and _evil_ ; only _better_ and _worse_! We’re all just nuances, or don’t you remember?” He then started quoting his friend. “A group of shades, some darker than others, in constant motion.” He smiled through his tears – when had he even begun crying? –, trying to convey all of his conviction by the sole force of his gaze. “You, my friend, are compassionate and tender. Loyal and brave. You are the sweetest person I know, and yet also the fiercest. I’ve seen you shelter butterflies and cast evil men aside with the same stubborn strength. You are a wonderful painting of millions of different tones. Soft, hard. Kind, firm. Open, reserved. And more faithful than any man I know, with a closet full of secrets and eyes that would make a man want to confess his most shameful sins to you. A smile that laughs, _I’m happy_ , and eyes that cry, _I’m not_. But people would rather look at the smile than the tears, and so the secret goes on. Merlin, you are everything a man could ever hope to be, and more. Whyever would you want to lock yourself up into the _good_ category? Why would you want to be _good_ , plain, boring _good_ , when you can be so much more than that? Don’t you get it? We don’t _need_ good! We don’t need you to be all smiles and perfection, to lecture us each time we take a life and play at being the good, kind angel! That’s not the kind of friend we need! We don’t _need_ a statue of perfection in our lives, nor do we need a friend bleeding on the inside on his attempt to become one! What we need is – _you_. You, being you.”

Gwaine was breathing rapidly, not even bothering to blink back tears anymore, and Merlin seemed to be in a similar state. His eyes, locked with Gwaine’s, were filled with hope that warmed the knight’s heart. Merlin _wanted_ to believe him. Gwaine hadn’t been too late, then. He let out a deep sigh of relief.

The Diamair next to them chuckled softly. To be quite honest, Gwaine had entirely forgotten their presence.

“You should listen to your knight, Emrys. He is much wiser than he lets on.”

Gwaine didn’t look away from Merlin, though. Not just yet. Cupping Merlin’s face with his hands to force his friend to look into his eyes only, he gently asked, his voice a whisper:

“Alright?”

Merlin’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes were shining with tears, and the exhaustion was clear on his face, but he also seemed relieved. He reminded Gwaine of the warrior who had survived a long battle and only wished to go back home and rest. There was an air of vulnerability to Merlin’s face – an air that said, _I want to believe you but know not how_. Merlin was unsteady on his feet, and frail, and Gwaine was the only one keeping him standing at this instant. Or maybe that’s what he liked to think. Either way, he had no intention of letting go. Not before he was sure that Merlin was alright, and even then, he wanted to keep a close eye on his friend. Stirred by a desire to protect him at all cost, even from himself if need be, Gwaine shifted his body to hide Merlin’s face from the Diamair. He doubted his friend would like them to see him like that, his pain bare for all to see.

“Alright,” Merlin finally whispered back. His eyes, unclouded by that infernal shadow, were now sincere and conciliant. He was not hiding from Gwaine anymore.

Dropping one hand to Merlin’s shoulder, intent on keeping him close, Gwaine then turned to the Diamair, and he slightly blushed. Now that he had Merlin by his side, the part of him that had been boiling with anger finally felt at peace, and was just now realising that his previous words may or may not have offended the Diamair.

“The things I said earlier… I – I didn’t mean to offend you,” he hurriedly said in lieu of an apology.

“You did not,” the Diamair assured him.

“Right. Err – good.” Then, suddenly remembering that the _Key to all knowledge_ was literally standing just in front of him, he began to panic. “Say, that thing you do... with all the truths and such… how does it work, exactly? These things you know… do you just _know_ them? What I mean is, when looking at me, d’you instantly know all of my dirty little secrets? D’you get constant flashes of what I’ve done? Or does it come as a list unrolling inside your head, allowing you to look at some facts and ignore others? What I’m asking there is, is there some way to… filter the information, or do you get it all at once? ‘Cause I’m getting a little embarrassed right now.”

The Diamair seemed amused at Gwaine’s little outburst.

“Worry not, laughing knight. I have looked at your soul and seen great worth.”

Gwaine shook his head, still not relieved. He could feel Merlin’s curious eyes on him. “I don’t care about that. With all due respect, I’m not after salvation for my soul or anything. I know I’m not getting any.”

“You’re a better man than you were before, young knight. A better man than you were yesterday.”

_Better._

The word made Gwaine inexplicably happy.

But it still wasn’t enough.

“That’s… still not what I’m worried about,” he grumbled.

And the Diamair – the Diamair just bloody _winked_! They winked, before making to leave.

“Wait, before you go!” he insisted, aware of Merlin’s now amused eyes on him. “Have you… _seen_ things about me? Every shameful thing I’ve ever done – have you seen it? _Can_ you?”

The Diamair smiled, as though Gwaine’s question had amused them greatly.

“Oh, young Gwaine… I can see every soul, every life, every moment. Yours is a very entertaining life, I must say, and it does get quite boring in here. One has to pass the time.” Then they smirked. “I must say, it was an honour to finally get to meet _The Drinking Monster_. Or would you rather be called _The Wild One_? People have given you many names, haven’t they? From what I’ve seen, they were all very well-deserved.”

Turning to Merlin, the Diamair murmured a, “It was an honour meeting you, Emrys,” before disappearing into thin air for good.

Gwaine was left gaping at the spot they had previously been occupying, still not believing what he had just seen and heard.

“Merlin. Merlin, mate. What’s just happened, does that – does that count as flirting? Did I just flirt with the bloody Key of all knowledge? Mate?”

But there was no getting an answer out of Merlin. Eyebrows quirked, cheeks flushed, his friend seemed unable to refrain his chuckles.

“ _Wild One?_ ” Merlin grinned.

Gwaine raised a finger. “Don’t you start–“

“For someone who hates titles, you’ve got an awful lot of them! I mean, these _are_ titles, right? Am I supposed to call you that now?”

“Absolutely not.”

“ _O, Wild One!_ ”

“Shut up.”

“Thou _Drinking Monster!_ ”

“If you dare to tell anyone–“

“Oh, don’t worry, my lips are sealed. I wouldn’t dare to offend the Drinking Monster, after all. Wouldn’t want to risk attracting his holy ire.”

“Christ, Merlin, I’m warning you–“

Merlin’s only answer was a burst of chuckles; and soon enough, Gwaine was following him in his laughter. He _had_ managed to bring a smile to Merlin’s lips, then. The thought brought him more solace than any other had in a very long time.

“C’mon, Merlin,” he said, wrapping an arm around Merlin’s shoulders to tug him closer. “Arthur’s worried sick about you. Let’s go back home.”

“Yeah.” Merlin smiled, and there was no mistaking the joy in his eyes. He leaned closer to Gwaine, allowing his head to come and rest on the knight’s shoulder, and sighed contentedly. “Let’s go home.”

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!   
> Just wanted to explore Merlin's 'darkest' side that series 5 revealed, and to imagine how things might have turned out if he had asked the Diamair about this instead. Obviously, that's just my personal interpretation of the characters and events. ^^  
> Hoped you liked it anyway :)


End file.
